


To the love they left behind

by Irish_coffee



Category: X Company (TV)
Genre: "It was a mistake" continuation piece, A bit dark I guess, Aurora's POV, Bitter but not hopeless, Getting drunk and consequences, Swearing, spoilers for s03e04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9533981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish_coffee/pseuds/Irish_coffee
Summary: "By the third glass of Cognac, her throat is burning, and she is coming to the realization that she's been bloody egoistic in the way she got things done. Alfred would remember her cruel words, her cold face. He would remember every detail forever, no matter how much he tried to forget. So she gulps and downs a fourth glass."How guilty can you actually feel about hurting someone with eidetic memory when you hurt so much yourself that you might choose to forget?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Last week's episode's consequences on me... I was already crying my heart out hearing Neil's sudden inspirational surge to finish the speech to the Resistance, so imagine just how wet my plaid was when Aurora broke Alfred's heart in thousands of pieces. I needed a therapy, and I found none out there, so I decided to take it on me :). I'm sure I'm not the only cheesy one round here ;).  
> I hope you like it... I wrote it mostly on my lunch breaks whenever I could be alone, so I don't guarantee its quality... I figured I should post it before we get to see the fifth episode (ooooh the dreadful wait).

_To the love they left behind._

 

Hell, she thinks, Alfred has to be sweet and supportive even though he's just been insulted and rebuffed. And she downs another glass of Cognac, hoping to replace the sting left by the lies and half-truths on her tongue with that of alcohol.

 

He's awfully silent, he looks like a dog who's just been beaten for the first time and would love to show his love for his master but fears it will only unleash the whip once again. And it's fucking hard to resist putting a hand on his knee, hidden from prying eyes, to make him feel how much she's hurting too, using that special language of theirs, the one that comes so naturally... She gulps and tears her eyes away from him, focusing on Harry instead, Harry who's positively beaming, still very proud of what they've accomplished today. And she forces a sisterly smile.

She knows Alfred believes her rejection is real. Of course, he couldn't think she considered their kiss as a mistake. The color and taste of her voice would surely have betrayed her to him – he knew her so well. But how could he know that “ _I don't feel for you the way I did for René_ ” doesn't mean she loves him any less? He, who's never fallen in love with anybody else and therefore doesn't know that every lover tastes very different? How could he know that he's taken all her bitterness, smoothed her sharp angles and saved the sensitive person she had been before René's death?

 

          By the third glass of Cognac, her throat is burning, and she is coming to the realization that she's been bloody egoistic in the way she got things done, taking less than a minute to throw their tenderness to hell  when Alfred would remember her cruel words, her cold face, the emptiness when he had wanted to take her hand and had met air... He would remember every detail forever, no matter how much he tried to forget. So she gulps and downs a fourth glass.

 

Still, through the cruelty of it all, she is jealous of his eidetic memory.

He will remember every single touch, the erratic beating of her heart under his fingers and the music and taste of it. He will remember their silent conversations, the words contained in the light touches of her fingers on his collar, his arm or ghosting at the back of his neck. Most of all, he will remember the taste of her lips and the slightly fearful wonder in her eyes. He will be able to kiss her again, with the exact same innocence, whenever he closes his eyes, looking into his memories.

And by the absent look on his face, he is already trying to drown in those, _or_ trying to drown them in Cognac. And she fills her glass, wishing to forget.  
  
          

          By the fifth glass, her eyes are burning with tears that she desperately wants to shed, tears she desperately wants Alfred to dry with his unique way of making her feel special and strong. She sees a man smoking at the bar and she knows that a cigarette would do the trick. A coquettish smile and an extra sway of her hips earn her just what she needs and she's only halfway through the fag, coughing – tobacco is so much stronger than what she remembers – when she has to go to the bathroom to spill what little she has in her stomach. She wishes that her soul, everything down to her fucking feelings could fall to the bottom of the toilets with the content of her guts, and she swears she can feel the lot of them burn their way up. Her body doesn't seem to be able to stop heaving and she finally lets out everything, crying silently.  
  
When she's got nothing left to throw up, she sits against the wall and sighs. She doesn't need to be so mean to Alfred after all. He's a big boy, he knows why they need to slow it down. So she might stop helping him with his ties and she won't take his hand when it's not absolutely necessary to maintain their cover, and she certainly won't kiss him again. Yet, no one would keep her from wearing something blue for him to see everyday. It would be their secret code, colors instead of touches... Yes, she would do just that. She smiles faintly, and with her heart set on that decision, she feels just a little bit lighter.


End file.
